


What Comes Next

by shinypidgey



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Angst, Character Study, Height Differences, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Killing School Life (Dangan Ronpa), Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Pre-Killing School Life (Dangan Ronpa), So!Many!Spoilers!!!, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 05:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17401283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinypidgey/pseuds/shinypidgey
Summary: Danganronpa was just a show. But Kokichi can’t move on. Maybe another show veteran can help him finally stop playing games.





	What Comes Next

**** Kokichi still found himself mildly fascinated to see so many fans holding bottles of Panta with his name on it, wearing checkered scarves just like his. 

From the floor to ceiling window of his luxury hotel room, he watched them congregating in the hotel courtyard, purple dots among the rest of the Danganronpa fans. 

The event would begin the next morning, and he’d barely even glimpsed at the schedule. Arisa, his handler, cared about that stuff more than enough for the both of them; right now, she was in a tense-sounding phone conversation about a possible double-booking. Kokichi yawned, not looking away from the window—surely Arisa would fix whatever it was before tomorrow, like she always did. Then she’d whisk him between panels, autograph signings, and parties; he’d be able to bask in the attention and wouldn’t even have to think. 

This wasn’t his first, or even twentieth event. Kokichi had been practically living in hotels since the show finished filming. Tomorrow, he’d be his Danganronpa persona turned up to 11. It was only in moments like these, when he was alone, that he wasn’t putting on a performance. 

_ And I’m loving every minute _ , a theatrical voice at once familiar and far away said in his mind.  _ Oh, did you believe that? _ The voice broke into unsettling laughter.  _ That was a lie.  _

That was what the Kokichi Ouma that appeared on Danganronpa would say. That was what all of his merchandise said, at least. 

Whatever the post-Danganronpa Kokichi’s catchphrase was, well, he hadn’t figured it out yet. 

 

***

 

Kokichi had always known Danganronpa would change his life.

The first time he ever heard about it was from listening in on some other kids at school. 

That day, he was sitting alone as usual, pretending it was his preference. It should be no surprise to anyone who watched the show that Kokichi was never very popular. The same outspoken personality that earned him so many fans could be pretty grating for classmates who had to deal with it day to day. Most of the other kids left that compulsive liar alone.

Kokichi didn't say anything when those kids talked about a killing game, but his curiosity was piqued. Later, as he killed time after school at the library (anything to avoid going home), he looked it up and watched a couple of episodes on his phone. He was entranced. 

Danganronpa not only gave its teen stars full autonomy, but encouraged them to make a game out of killing. It was a battle of wits in which only the smartest, not the strongest, would survive. Kokichi was sure he could win a game like that. It became his routine, staying after school later and later to hide in the library stacks and catch up on previous seasons of Danganronpa. 

Moving into the second season, he wasn’t immediately drawn to Nagito Komaeda. But as the wild-haired teen made more and more elaborate schemes, all for the sake of making the killing game more suspenseful, he couldn’t look away. 

Like the students in season one, Komaeda’s mind had been implanted with false memories to make the world of the show more interesting. But even though he had no idea he was on a show meant to entertain, he was the only person who seemed to realize what the killing game was for. Kokichi wasn't particularly invested in Komaeda's thirst for hope, but he admired his tenacity. The other students saw him as a thorn in their sides, but to viewers, Komaeda was an alluring wild card, a reason to keep tuning in.

That was the kind of person Kokichi wanted to be if he ever got on the show. He wanted everyone's eyes on him, the same way he couldn't take his eyes off of Komaeda for curiosity about what crazy scheme he'd concoct next.

 

***

 

Scrawny. Smartass. A nuisance. A troublemaker. Kokichi had never been able to find somewhere he belonged—not at school, nor with any of the relatives who had been guilted into taking the unwanted orphan in for a while. And until he found Danganronpa, he’d almost given up.

In Danganronpa, he could be somebody. It was the slight possibility that compelled him to get the courage to attend the audition in his city.  In the weeks leading up to it, he stayed up late rewatching Nagito Komaeda’s murder trial. Even after his death, the man’s machinations lived on.

Komaeda lived, of course. To this day, Nagito’s still on the convention circuit, signing his autograph on creepily grinning headshots. Kokichi has seen him there often enough to begin calling him by his first name. Because, of course, Danganronpa wasn’t real. It was all computer graphics, virtual reality, and special effects. 

The only truth of the show lay in the students’ reactions. They didn’t realize they’d been implanted with fake memories. They didn’t know the whole thing was carefully crafted with virtual reality. They didn’t know they weren’t going to die. 

Maybe some small murmur in the back of Nagito’s subconsciousness had told him that no matter what he did, he wasn’t  _ really _ going to die. Or maybe he really was just that unhinged. 

Kokichi knew he could do even better, but he wasn’t sure how he could convince the producers. And then right before the audition, those producers changed the rules. After dozens of previous seasons of Danganronpa, audiences were getting used to the twists and turns of the franchise. So the scenario writers decided to shock the world. 

They were going to turn the simulation into an actual killing game, where the stakes really did mean death. 

The news was never delivered in an official press release, but the rumor floated around online, gathering steam as one convincing source after another confirmed its alleged credibility. It’s not so difficult, Kokichi realizes now, to get the whole world to believe in your lie. The V3 auditions had the smallest turnout since the show began. But those who auditioned anyway were exactly who the writers wanted: people like Kokichi with nothing to lose.

In the end, nobody really died. That would be illegal, to kill a bunch of teens for the sake of entertainment. But through bribery and conspiracies elaborate enough to rival some of the twists in Danganronpa itself, the reality didn’t come to light until after the show wrapped and the students made their first public appearances, just as surprised they were alive as everyone else. 

After that, Spike Chunsoft executives began speaking to magazines about the deception as if it passed for just another public relations strategy in this late-capitalist hellscape. The rumor that this was going to be the season they televised real deaths was invented specifically to get the most fucked-up fans to audition. And boy, did it work. The kids on Danganronpa V3 were the most maladjusted yet, and viewers just ate up their antics. 

 

***

 

When Kokichi enacted his twisted plan, he never expected to survive. 

He never expected to wake up in a debriefing room, all white walls and bright halogen lights, trying to shield his eyes with an arm that wouldn’t listen to his brain’s command to raise it, too heavy from weeks inside a stasis chamber. 

His return to the real world was hazy. Somebody gave him a sedative. And somebody else told him the truth. The only way not to overreact was to not react at all. 

His sarcastic answers to their questions seemed to satisfy them. (“How many fingers am I holding up?” “Four… is what I’d say if I were lying. Three.”) This seemed to assure the technicians that he was sufficiently recovered from the slumber of his high-tech fake death, and he was kicked out and unceremoniously deposited in an adjacent room. This was some kind of green room, like the kind that actors wait inside while they’re getting on or off stage.

Miu, Gonta, Ryoma, and the rest of those he thought were dead were all there, still in various stages of waking up. Gonta’s eyes lit up with fearful recognition, while Miu gave him an icy glare. So it wasn’t going to be easy to let bygones be bygones, apparently. 

In the center of the room was a glowing screen, that, on closer inspection, showed an ongoing class trial just like he remembered. And in his place, there was a placard with his portrait on it. His portrait had a question mark over it. His plan had worked. 

All of them were looking at the screen. 

He chose an empty seat next to Rantaro precisely because it seemed like the earliest casualty in the game was also the one who seemed the least pissed off at him, either because he’d had more time to recover or simply because he had the least exposure to Kokichi’s shit. 

“Long time no see, Amami-chan.” He tried to greet him with his usual bravado, and mostly succeeded in keeping the shakiness out of his voice. 

“‘Sup,” Rantaro replied, not taking his eyes off the screen. 

Kokichi watched along with him for a bit. Listening to his own well-planned dialogue was never boring—god knew he’d rehearsed it enough times on his own—but Kaito was hardly nailing the delivery, and it took a lot of the fun out of it. 

It was obvious to Kokichi what a bad impression Kaito was doing, but the other students seemed pretty well convinced. Everyone but that detective, of course. Kokichi couldn’t help but crack a sliver of a smile. Saihara had somehow always managed to see through his lies. It was comforting in a way, to know that in spite of it all, somebody was still trying to know the real him. 

Monokuma paused the trial for intermission. 

“Well, that was entertaining,” Kokichi yawned convincingly. “What else is there to do around here?”

“We wait,” Ryoma said glumly. 

“You wait, you mean,” Kokichi said, inspecting his nails with a bored expression. “I’m tired of this.”

Angie looked at him questioningly with her head tilted sideways. “Did somebody not listen to the techs? We’ve got to stay patient until eveerrrryyyybody wakes up.”

Could she mean…? But that would take forever!

“Geez, and you all are just OK with that?” Kokichi asked with a wide-eyed mask of incredulity. “Don’t you miss the, y’know,” he gestured around vaguely, “the real world?”

Finally Rantaro unlocked his gaze from the screen and looked straight at Kokichi. 

“My real world is Danganronpa,” he said evenly. “And to sign up for what you thought was going to be a real live killing game, yours probably is, too.”

 

***

 

After the show ended, Kokichi’s life was Danganronpa, even more than it had been when he was a suicidal fan. Team Danganronpa handlers shuffled him from event to event like he was a mindless zombie, and that didn’t feel far off. Despite his teasing, taunting, falsely flirtatious exchanges with fans every day, he felt more isolated than ever. 

After his cool reception in the green room, he’d gotten the impression that the others would prefer he keep his distance. Only Kaede had made an effort to see him, and he pretended not to be home. Something about the former Ultimate Pianist made him feel remiss to dial up the theatrics. Kaede reminded him so much of a big sister, and it made him feel something disgustingly like real affection for her. He grimaced. Kokichi loved feigning emotions for an audience, but actually experiencing them was hit-or-miss. 

It wasn’t like he particularly wanted to see any of them, either. Even if none of it had been real, he’d thought it had. Everything he had done, he’d done for them! Or had he? Sometimes even he lost track of what was true and what was a lie. 

At the Danganronpa event, he signed doujinshi of himself committing unspeakable acts. 

“How lewd, showing this to me,” Kokichi giggled. The fan he’d addressed had a rapturous expression on her face, like she’d just won the lottery. In reality, he’d seen so many artists’ iterations of his own nude form that he barely blinked, even internally. (Externally, he batted his long lashes for thousands of fans, soaking in their endlessly enamored reactions.)

He’d seen it all: Kokichi with tentacles wrapped around his lithe body; Kokichi with a mewling expression, drool leaking from the corners of his mouth. Kokichi clinging to K1-B0, to Kaito. 

Kokichi in Saihara’s possessive embrace, a confident finger to his lips. 

This was one of those, with Saihara’s autograph already on it. What did Saihara think when he signed it, Kokichi wondered. Just that thought made him blush for real. 

But it was easy to shake off. This was mild compared to some of the darker stuff out there. Danganronpa fans could be pretty fucked up—he knew all about it, being one himself. No wonder they loved him. How many times had he fantasized about how he’d be if he had a chance to get on the show himself? He could see his own demented fantasies reflected in their eyes. 

When he was finished signing, an assistant from Team Danganronpa gave him a bottle of water. Kokichi hadn’t learned her name; other than Arisa, he hadn’t bothered to get to know them. It didn’t matter what they thought of him, they were paid to be there. He knew they didn’t like him any more than his classmates did, so he didn’t bother faking otherwise. It was nice not to lie about something for once. 

“Thanks, Whoever,” he said, loud enough for her to hear. 

That night, he was dressed in formal clothing and escorted to an industry party in the hotel restaurant. Yet another place to avoid his former classmates. 

Miu was complaining about something and swearing loudly, K1-B0 trailing after her apologetically. Maki seemed flustered, hiding behind an on-guard Kaito. Kaede seemed surprisingly at ease, shaking hands with somebody Kokichi didn’t recognize, and then pulling Shuichi by his sleeve over to do the same. 

Everyone seemed to be paired off. Shuichi’s words from the show came back to him, as they sometimes did.  _ “You’re alone, Kokichi. You always will be.”  _

Across the room, Kaede was all smiles, Shuichi charmingly flustered. And then Kaede caught his eye across the room and actually started  _ waving at him _ . Just looking at them made him feel sick. He dropped the plate he’d been holding on a nearby table, turned around and walked out. 

At the lobby bar, he found Nagito Komaeda. This night was steadily getting worse.

Nagito was one of the few early fan-favorites to still be doing the convention circuit. People still loved him. Kokichi understood that. Back when he was a fan, Nagito had been  _ his _ favorite. And now he ran into the guy at industry events like this one. How the world turned. 

Nagito was sitting in an easy chair like an alien who had been given an incomplete description of how human beings sit in chairs: spine too straight, slender fingers gripping the arms like handles. Whenever he was face-to-face with him, Kokichi almost couldn’t believe he had once idolized the guy.  

Kokichi flopped into the chair next to him with his legs swept to the side. He hated sitting normally in chairs like these because his feet never reached the floor, so he had perfected the art of the easy sprawl. He waited for Nagito to make even the slightest gesture of recognition. 

And waited. When a server stopped by, Kokichi ordered a cocktail. As usual, he had to take matters into his own hands. 

“It’s disappointing, y’know, how much less twisted you are than I used to think,” Kokichi started, deliberately. He meant to provoke, but Nagito just gave him an unsettling grin. 

“Perhaps,” his senior replied. He swished his own cocktail in concentric circles, seemingly entranced. Kokichi didn’t think he had even taken one sip since it’d been handed to him. 

Kokichi couldn’t help but continue prodding. Seeing Nagito turn into a disaster would be a nice distraction. “What, no comeback? I thought you were famous for that kind of thing.” 

Nagito slowly turned his attention back to Kokichi, eyes refocusing like he was only noticing him for the first time.

“I’m afraid I must concede, Kokichi Ouma,” Nagito said, and his name sounded like something foreign in the weirdo’s mouth. “A verbal duel with you would certainly be hopeless.”

“Looks like I’m the lucky one, then, beating Danganronpa’s luckiest student at something,” Kokichi said with mock triumph. But Nagito was unruffled. 

“Your class simply had mine beat in that respect. After all,” he turned his gaze back to the endless fascination that was the liquid in his glass, “You’re the ones who thought the killing game was real.”

And there it was. The realization had dawned on Kokichi not too long ago. It was easy to see why somebody as gloomy as Ryoma might have signed up. But all of his classmates must have been battling their private demons, even Kaede. 

“It seems we’re just more determined,” Kokichi affirmed, with an edge to his voice.

“‘We?’” Nagito said, the ghost of a smile forming. “You don't seem to be a very cohesive group. You in particular.” He looked past Kokichi significantly, his gaze wandering toward the hallway to the ballroom. “Don’t you want to be with the rest of your classmates inside?”

“Hardly.  _ They _ don't tell  _ me _ what to do,” Kokichi replied. The server returned, and Kokichi picked up his purple cocktail. “I happen to feel like having a drink.”

For so long he had idolized Nagito’s sick suicide scheme. It had been his inspiration,and he’d vowed to double down on it in his audition. Nagito may have thought he was suicidal during the show, but he wasn’t when they picked him. This weirdo was better adjusted than he was. 

“Hey, don’t pout like that,” Nagito said, his voice piercing through Kokichi’s murky thoughts. 

Had the mask slipped for a moment? Well, Kokichi was nothing if not swift to recover. What was it that made them pick him at the audition? His cleverness that had kept the bullies at bay for years despite his small stature and his pathetic situation in life? 

Or did the full extent of his derangement show through?

“I don’t pout,” Kokichi replied smoothly, his chilly smile back perfectly in place.

“If you say so,” Nagito said, seemingly backing down. After draining his glass, he looked at Kokichi's rum and Panta. “Excuse me,” he said to the bartender “I'll have what he's having.”

“I guess even you unwind sometimes, huh?” Kokichi mused. 

It almost felt like a concession, a compliment to Kokichi's good taste, a reversal in their role. The dim lighting caught Nagito's pale silver hair and Kokichi allowed himself to appreciate the moment. If life were a game, he'd played the right strategy to see a pretty interesting sight. 

“It’s probably not worth it to expect a straight answer from somebody like you,” Nagito began, “but what made you decide to audition for Danganronpa in the first place?”

“Wooow, to think Nagito wants to know about me,” Kokichi said with an appraising grin. “Who would have thought I’d be so lucky.”

“A perfect deflection. Exactly what I ought to expect from you, Kokichi.” It felt good to have Nagito’s silver eyes on him, and even better, a warm glow that felt something like approval. “I watched V3. I’m sure I could learn a few things from you.” 

A waiter quietly deposited a drink in front of Nagito. He took a tentative taste. 

“This is mostly sugar,” he said. “Did you really come here to drink?”

“Actually,” Kokichi said, lowering his voice an octave. “I came here to get laid.” 

That was a lie, of course. But he was feeling uninhibited, and dying to know how his unlikely drinking partner would react. 

In fact, Nagito looked more interested than he had since Kokichi sat down. “Incredible,” he mused. “To see the famous liar’s deceptions up close.”

“You caught me,” Kokichi said, feigning humility, palms raised. “But… I’m just getting started.”

“If you wouldn’t mind lying for the likes of me,” Nagito said hesitantly, one hand carding his own unruly hair, “Could you tell me another?” 

Now  _ there  _ was the tiny, unsettling grin that Kokichi remembered from the show.

Kokichi preened. It wasn’t too long ago that Nagito had been his role model. Perhaps if he could be interesting enough, he could show him that the character of TV’s Kokichi Ouma had eclipsed TV’s Nagito Komaeda. Perhaps he could show him how the tables have turned.  

 

***

 

Kokichi soon learned that Nagito made an excellent distraction. Even people who weren’t Danganronpa fans paused to crane their necks up at the wild-eyed space cadet who could act believably entranced by even the most ordinary tasks. 

“Amazing. Where did you learn to do that?” he exclaimed at a stoic bartender shaking a martini with moderate flair. “How old were you when you learned you had this talent?”

“Are you… are you going to order anything?” she asked, only slightly flustered. 

“Oh no, I could never. But perhaps, if it’s alright with you, I could watch?”

The bartender raised an eyebrow.

By then, Kokichi had already pilfered a bottle of bottom-shelf vodka. Nobody would miss it, and it’d be perfect for spiking the punch at that stuffy party they’d left. 

“Excuse me if this is presumptuous, coming from me,” Nagito said after Kokichi managed to pull him away from the bar (maybe his outsized curiosity wasn’t feigned at all?), “But isn’t spiking a punch bowl a rather low-level prank? I’d thought, since you were the Supreme Leader and all…”

“Exactly,” Kokichi said confidently. “They’ll be expecting something more elaborate from the likes of me, which is why they’ll never see it coming.” 

Nagito’s eyes sparkled with sudden comprehension. “Genius.”

But Kokichi had already had the same thought, and he frowned to recall it. This was easy. This was childish. He certainly wasn’t in high school anymore. But it might just make him feel better and have the added bonus of impressing his former hero at the same time.

 

*** 

 

When Kokichi was finally let out of that green room and allowed to return home, Komaeda’s face had been the one to greet him, in a way. His postage stamp-sized room had been papered floor to ceiling with Danganronpa merch, and a life-sized poster of Komaeda had a central place of honor. He had wandered around like a sleepwalker, exploring a place that was at once familiar and completely alien to him. The implanted memories clung like cobwebs, intermingling with his pathetic former life. The journals, filled with Danganronpa speculation and later, his own murder and suicide plots, seemed like they belonged to somebody else. 

Before the game started he was nobody. What kind of kid would ask to have their ultimate talent be Supreme Leader, except somebody who craved attention? He got it, but not in the way he expected. He wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with his classmates. But even now, he was consistently one of the top five most popular actors from the show. 

Back in the Green Room, he’d witnessed Shuichi and Kaede’s tearful reunion. At long last, Shuichi finally woke up, recovered his memories, and heard for the first time that Kaede wasn’t really dead. The cameras caught all of it, of course: his eyes locked onto hers like he’d never seen anything so enthralling. 

It occurred to Kokichi that no matter how relentlessly he tormented the detective, he could never get Shuichi to keep his eyes on him like that. 

 

***

 

Nagito had his eyes on Kokichi now, with a querying look like he was awaiting orders. Kokichi blinked back to the present, assuming his most commanding gaze. 

“Now,” he said, “we walk in like we belong there.”

Nagito tilted his head. “But… don’t we belong there? We were invited.”

“Exactly!” Kokichi barked. “So all we need to do is act like it.”

He was maybe a little tense. But only slightly. Supreme leaders don’t get social anxiety, after all. So it made no sense that the thought of returning to that party was making him feel like he was physically suffocating. But even he couldn’t deny the icy knot blooming in his chest. 

“You’re not going in,” Nagito observed. 

“Just… coming up with a plan,” Kokichi said.

Suddenly Nagito rose to his full height, and Kokichi was aware of how commanding Nagito could be when he wanted to. “Hey. Maybe we should stop playing this game.” 

Kokichi tried to laugh it off, like he wasn’t pinned between Nagito and a hotel corridor. “Supreme leaders don’t take this kind of subordination.”

“But you’re not a supreme leader, remember?” 

“You were the one who said he wanted to learn from me,” Kokichi said darkly. 

“It might seem presumptive to say so, but I was a lot like you,” Nagito said, and the air shifted with his tone. “I haven’t talked to Hajime in years, you know. Not since he and Chiaki got married.”

Kokichi didn’t know. “Something did seem off during your last TV appearance,” he lied. 

“So it’s obvious, huh? He was my closest friend on the show, and maybe more than that. But now…” Nagito laughed bleakly. “I guess I’m not doing any better than you.”

Ugh. This is why Kokichi hated talking about feelings. Even Nagito became unfamiliar when he’s sad. “Yeah, I get it,” he offered, inspecting his manicure so he wouldn’t have to look at Nagito. “Everyone else has moved on, or whatever.” 

“Exactly.” It was far from Kokichi’s best effort at comfort, but Nagito seemed to seize on it anyway. “For some reason, people still want to meet somebody like  _ me _ years later. Or… who I used to be. I’m not that kid anymore, but I’m still here.”

Kokichi shrugged. Here wasn’t particularly bad. Here he got plenty of attention. Heck, here people were  _ paid  _ to put up with him. 

But… his role was transactional, too. People wanted to meet TV’s Kokichi Ouma. They wanted him turned up to 11. They didn’t want this version of him, cowering in front of a hotel ballroom and having a very uncomfortable conversation with a depressed-looking Nagito Komaeda.

Fortunately, he was still holding a bottle of vodka. 

“I know! Let’s have our own party, Nagito-chan. Maybe if you drink this, you can cheer up!”

Nagito searched Kokichi’s face, almost as if he could see past his artificial cheerfulness. “It’s true we’re not having very much fun here,” he allowed. “Let’s take this upstairs.”

Kokichi hid his surprise with a giggle. He realized he actually wouldn’t mind that, and wondered if maybe the alcohol was getting to him. “You wish.”

Nagito made a show of looking around. “I wonder when that bartender over there is going to figure out the handle she’s missing looks just like the one you’re holding.”

“Fine, let’s go. But only because  _ you’re _ afraid of getting caught.”

 

***

 

The whole world knew about Nagito Komaeda’s feelings for Hajime Hinata. If it wasn’t clear during the televised killing game, it became more than obvious during their Blu-Ray exclusive mini-series, where they just collected hope fragments around the island. 

It was another thing the two of them had in common, Kokichi thought. By now every Danganronpa fan probably knew about that dumb crush he had on Shuichi Saihara. The gifts he accepted, the overtures he made… he wonders with mild horror if they even had a camera in that strange hotel room Just the thought made him feel a little uneasy about being in a hotel room now.

He took a swig of the vodka and passed it off to Nagito who, after a pause, took a drink himself. 

“So this is what you're really like,” said Nagito. 

“What are you getting at?” Kokichi asked, his voice sharp as he thought about his earlier failure.

“Relax, relax. I mean, this is what you're like when you're not trying to murder people.”

“How do you know I'm not trying to murder you right now?”

“True,” Nagito replied brightly. “I don't know. This world is full of possibility!”

“Geez, cut it out already,” Kokichi sighed. “You say I'm different, but you're exactly as irritating as you were on the show.”

“You've made yourself clear,” Nagito said lightly, apparently not bothered at all. “So in that case, who was your favorite actor on the show?”

Kokichi pretended to think. “Sonia did have an incredible rack…”

“Very funny. It doesn't take an ultimate to guess you don’t swing that way.”

Kokichi laughed mirthfully. “Nagito-chan really thinks he has me allllll figured out.”

“For a liar,” Nagito said, “You're not very good at it.”

“And you,” Kokichi said, ignoring the jab, “Who was your favorite on  _ my _ show?”

“You obviously,” Nagito said without missing a beat.

Kokichi pretended to preen. “Of course! Who could take their eyes off of me?”

“It was more than that. It reminded me of myself. Back then. I… was hoping you'd win. But you didn’t. And then, I thought you died.” 

“Did you miss me?” Kokichi teased.

“Yes.” Nagito took another swig of the bottle. “It was like in you…  I had a second chance. And then it disappeared.”

Kokichi laughed his fake laugh. Things were getting a little too dark again. “Giving yourself a little too much credit for my actions, I think.”

“I don’t think so. You've practically told me as much,” Nagito replied matter-of-factly. “If I didn't know better, I'd say I inspired you.”

Kokichi wanted to ask Nagito what his game was. Was he like him? A mix of before and after?  _ Do you miss it? Was it the only time you ever felt in control?  _ But even somebody as silver-tongued as Kokichi couldn't form the right words to ask a question like that.

Instead, he asks something else. “What if I said you were my inspiration? If I said, ‘Ooh Nagito~, you’re so inspiring, you’re the whole reason I decided to go on the show.’ Would that make you happy? And even if I said all that, would you even believe me?”

“No,” Nagito says, already leaning over to kiss him.

 

***

 

What made Kokichi so different, so much better, he thought to himself, when he was on the show? He had always been clever, but nobody would have called him charismatic. He had always been witty, but no one had appreciated it before. 

The foundation had always been there. It wasn’t the implanted memories that did it. It was the confidence those memories gave him. With the certainty of who he thought he was and what he stood for, he could stop plotting and start enacting his plans when he was on V3. He knew how his V3 self would react to this situation, assured of himself and maybe even aggressive. 

But for now, Kokichi decided to let himself be surprised.

Whoever said not to meet your heroes, he thought, was a moron. 

Nagito kissed him hungrily, forcefully enough that Kokichi was sure it’d leave a bruise. It was almost like he was trying to take the emptiness inside himself and fill it with Kokichi. 

Kokichi would be lying if he said he’d been particularly experienced before going on the show, and lying again to say he hadn’t messed around with any particularly enthusiastic Danganronpa fans while on the convention circuit. But all of those times, he’d been calling the shots. He’d always been the one in control.

Not today. 

Nagito tasted like coconut lip balm, and when he parted Kokichi’s lips with his tongue, it felt like velvet. 

Kokichi gasped at the intrusion and Nagito instantly pulled away. 

“Forgive me,” Nagito murmured, panting from the adrenaline. “Was that too much?”

“No,” Kokichi giggled, still a little breathless. “It wasn’t enough.”

Nagito still looked hesitant until he added, “Believe me, I’m telling the truth.”

With Nagito, things felt unpredictable. He wasn’t jumping ten steps ahead about where this was going. And for once, he wanted to enjoy the ride. 

As Nagito finally, deliciously closed the inches between their faces once more, Kokichi whispered one final thing, because he was nothing if not a performer.

“You can do anything you want to me.”

It was barely audible, but Nagito returned with renewed enthusiasm, wrapping his wiry arms around Kokichi and pulling them both down to the bed. 

Nagito seemed to have a road map in mind. He gently untied Kokichi's scarf to access his neck and collarbone, which he covered in furtive, careful kisses.

“You've imagined this before,” Kokichi guessed, trying to make it sound like it wasn't a question.

Nagito chuckled softly into Kokichi's neck. “Confident are we? Maybe I've been too obvious.”

Another kiss, a warm wet press against Kokichi's throat. “The way you controlled the game… they hated you even more than they hated me. But, it was mesmerizing. I think that's when I first began to… desire you.”

Kokichi could feel Nagito's desire presently, flush against his thigh. In a moment of sadistic impulse, he pushed his knee up suddenly into the bulge. Nagito's startled moan was his just reward.

“Lucky for you, I can be just as cruel as I was on the show, and I'm not concerned about being hated.”

“Lucky for me.” Nagito looked dazed. 

Even at a time like this, Kokichi simply couldn't cut out his act. It was fortunate indeed that Nagito seemed to be into it.

Now Nagito was pulling open his shirt to tease his nipples with his tongue, and all the while Kokichi's thigh was pressed against a rapidly hardening Nagito. He had an ulterior motive here: it controlled Nagito’s movement, keeping him from getting close enough to feel just how much Kokichi was enjoying this.

If he was honest with himself, which he rarely was, it was electrifying. For so long he'd idolized Nagito. How many times had he imagined slapping the hopeful grin off his face or, alternately, being pulled into one of the unhinged man's sick fantasies. Nagito was unsettling, with grayish green eyes that always seemed far away. To see them focused for once, and fully on him, was startling. And, he had to admit, not a little arousing. 

“So how do you want to do this?” Nagito paused in his ministrations to ask him. “Usually, I take more of a receptive role during sex but… you seem to be into this.”

Perhaps Kokichi hadn't been as subtle as he thought. It was a possibility greater than zero that some of those moans he'd been hearing had escaped from his own throat.

He recovered quickly. “If that makes my dear Nagito more confident, he is welcome to believe that!”

 

***

 

Kokichi awoke to an insistent knocking that felt like it was coming from inside of his brain.

Sunlight streamed directly on to his face and he groaned, turning his head to bury it in the pillow. Instead, he encountered a bird’s nest of wavy white hair. So that’s where he was.

Komaeda got up first and pulled on a pair of jeans. His lanky body looked even leaner in the morning light. Without bothering with a shirt, he opened the door and a woman in a business suit walked in. Kokichi had seen her before but hadn’t bothered to learn her name. 

She didn’t seem to care that a very underdressed Kokichi was still in bed. Her vision registered him and moved on. What kind of shit had Nagito done in the past, that this didn’t surprise her?

“Minato-san,” Nagito said. “I hope I didn’t cause too much trouble for you last night.”

“No more than usual, said the woman, apparently Minato. She met Kokichi’s eyes. “Although, your choice of companionship has led to an interesting development.”

“Is it because he's an Ultimate and I'm… me? I always knew I'd be involved in a scandal,” Nagito said world-wearily. 

“It’s nothing like that,” Minato said placatingly, like she was used to Nagito’s shit. “A fan snapped a pic of you and Ouma-kun last night and it went a little viral.”

“A virus sounds more like bad luck than good luck.” 

“It depends if you think a new gig is good luck or not. Now that the director knows that you two are, er, friends, he’s gotten the idea to give you two a spin-off show.” Minato stated this matter-of-factly, like it didn’t matter to her one way or the other.

“Both of us? Kokichi asked mock-incredulously. “I'm not great at sharing the spotlight.”

“I canceled your morning engagements,” Minato continued smoothly. “And Ouma’s too. The boss wants to bring you in for a meeting right away.”

“I love it,” Nagito said with zeal. “I may be useless alone, but working together with Kokichi… just imagine how much hope we could bring to the world.”

“Hope this, hope that, speak for yourself,” Kokichi groused, before perking up. “But with a loyal follower like Nagito, I bet I could devise something  _ really _ exciting.”

“Let’s get going then,” Minato said. “You might want to put a shirt on first, Nagito. And Ouma-kun, you might want to put on an… everything.” 

All this time, Kokichi had been trying to just move on, to put Danganronpa in the past. But for the first time, he saw Danganronpa as his future, too. By failing to really kill him, the show had given him a second chance, he just hadn’t realized it yet. But now, looking at Nagito’s excited, awful, twisted, beautiful face, he was damned if he wasn’t going to take it. 

**Author's Note:**

> love 2 ship a rarepair + write my own fic bc nobody else will


End file.
